


focal point

by GiuliaMed



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Marijuana, Mental Health Issues, Nico's thoughts, POV Niccolò, Pining, Self-Doubt, Self-Loathing, Sexual Tension, Smoking, cuteness, different but similar, triggering bad memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 20:11:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18534658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiuliaMed/pseuds/GiuliaMed
Summary: fo·cal point:the point at which all elements or aspects converge; center of activity or attentionFinding new friends is Niccolò's priority after changing schools, but somewhere along the line, one of the four boys he meets becomes more important.Snapshots of Nico slowly falling in love.





	focal point

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing is inspired by the only location that truly matters—the lake house, and the fact that Nico really really likes Marti. Cheesy but the heart wants what it wants.

It's January and he sees Martino for the first time.

Actually, he sees everybody for the first time.

The colors are tedious today, lifeless, and he wishes the walls were more hopeful and not peeling off the paint—pale like dirty sand—only to reveal grey concrete. At least it could have snowed, to cover the dry tree branches and give him something familiar to look at and walk through. A dear companion in the midst of new circumstances.

But there's nothing. 

Only countless students passing by, not paying attention to him, living in a persistent stream of chatter, one he has no connection to. 

He's standing in front of the open school gate, leaning against a corner, and it's not the cold winter air that makes him cross his arms in front of his chest. Not the most inviting presence, he knows that.

He's watching the other students, has been subtly looking around for the last ten minutes; how they walk in their set paths, their own routes, with confidence because they know their way around. A way he isn't used to yet.

There's a group of dark-haired guys walking by, determined and proud, and judging by the way some of the girls turn their heads they must be the popular boys. All the girls that turned around have brown hair, not even different in length or shade, which isn't helpful for Niccolò's imaginary game of memorization.

There's a louder group of students (blonde girl, three brunettes), and then another one (three black-haired guys), until they enter through the gate and clear his view to see red; dark brown, almost black; blond and straight; light brown and curly. 

No, not red. Brown with a hint of bronze. Auburn.

The four boys are a few meters away, standing in a half circle, but he can't hear what they're talking about. They're all laughing, lighthearted and carefree, looking like they belong here. 

It's easy for them.

The redhead is telling an animated story, grinning wildly at his own words and the others' enthusiastic reactions. His curly-haired friend leans an arm on his shoulder and says something that makes the boy stop, followed by a dramatic eye-roll that moves his whole head away for a moment, even Nico can see it from afar, but seconds later a bright smile appears on his face, and he's talking again. 

Maybe the boys will be in his class, Nico thinks.

He watches them interact, how they gesticulate and interrupt each other, and for a moment he sees himself standing there—a flickering memory—happy, without worries, surrounded by his old friends, laughing about whatever. 

But now everything is different. 

The upcoming months will be boring if he doesn't find friends. Niccolò lets out a heavy sigh, his gaze wandering to other students. 

Two demons in his head are fighting each other, one whispering he should attempt to meet new people, that it's what he wants, the other shouting that he's overcompensating. He doesn't know which one is a liar.

He pushes the thought away, focusing on taking in everything, afraid that if he doesn't pay attention, he'll miss an important detail. 

_"Just do your best"_ a voice whispers his mother's words in his ear. 

It's almost impossible to uncross his arms, but he forces himself to do it, to relax, the group of boys already forgotten, his brain overwhelmed with a hundred new faces (and a hundred chances).

 

***

 

Two weeks later he's sitting in the tiny baretto. A fly lands on his cup and he absently swats it away, eyes staying fixed on a book and chin buried in his palm.

The girl who always takes the same bus to school as he does—on the fifth day they started greeting each other—told him about it: apperently it's a popular meeting spot for students, and he’s seen it filled to the brim a few times when he walked by, but today most chairs are empty. He doesn't mind, he's here to enjoy his hot chocolate and stare at his history book. 

The words make little sense, probably because he's not trying very hard to understand them, but he didn't come here to study, he just wanted a reason to postpone his plan for the afternoon.

Even though it’s not his intention, his mind travels along a road of remorseful excuses he could use, finger circling on the rim of the cup, when a shadow falls over his book and then his cup too, making him return to reality and the person standing at his table.

It's the boy from school, the one with the brown curls.

Nico has seen him once or twice in the hallway, always a trail of friends behind him, but he's alone now, with a hesitant smile on his lips.

"Hey." He pauses, quickly glancing to the empty seat opposite Nico, like he doesn't know what to say next. "You're the new kid in school, right?"

Nico shifts in his seat, drops the hand from his chin. The boy looks friendly and it's the only time someone talked to him first, there's no real reason to be nervous. 

"Yes," he answers, unsure what the boy expects.

"I thought maybe..." He turns to point at the back corner where the foosball table stands. "Are you up for a match? My friends are late and I don't know how to pass the time." 

Nico straightens up. He should be so lucky and be the chosen person that boy wants to talk to. A second passes and the other boy is still looking at him hopefully. 

If that's not a reason directly sent from something similar to fate, he doesn't know what is. "Sure." He smiles back. 

The boy nods, the tension on his face disappearing and turning into delight, accompanied by excited gestures with hands that are not stiffly hanging by his sides anymore. "I saw you a couple of times at school. I'm Giovanni, by the way," he offers while they walk.

"Niccolò. Nice to meet you." He walks around to the other side and waits for Giovanni to throw in the ball.

"Show me what you got, Niccolò." he grins provocatively, as if they're lifelong friends, and it's like a gift from heaven, suddenly making everything easy.

Giovanni is too friendly for Nico not to like him immediately; he's more talkative than his classmates, surrounded by a comforting aura even when he doesn't speak, observantly listening. Nico tells him how he changed schools in January, conveniently leaving out reasons and details, and Giovanni talks about which teachers are cool and about the field behind the school where they play football. 

The game is playfully competitive from the start, and Nico puts effort into it, weirdly craving approval for something so insignificant, but they seem to be on an almost equal skill level.

Scoring the winning goal, Giovanni throws his hands in the air in celebration and mock-laughs loudly at Nico who's bowing down his head in defeat, only to be interrupted by a group of boys approaching them. He’s grown so comfortable with Giovanni in the last minutes that he only feels the anxiety creeping back in when the bubble is broken by other people.

It's the same people he saw on his first day, two in the front chatting, the redhead trailing behind them, eyes glued to his phone.

Nico steps aside, watching the two boys fist-bump Giovanni and take off their jackets.

"You finally remembered me, eh?" He slaps the blond friend's shoulder, but there is no accusation in his voice. That's probably the kind of guy he is, Nico figures.

"Sorry, bro," the friend starts, but only mumbles an unintelligible explanation. 

The dark-haired boy throws a glance at Nico, then a questioning look back at Giovanni.

"This is Niccolò. We were playing while I was waiting for you," he introduces him.

In that moment the redhead looks up, Niccolò's attention immediately shifts, and he sees the curious eyes looking back. 

"Elia, Luca," Giovanni points at each one, "and Martino."

"Ciao," he greets them.

He gets two nods, a hesitant smile, and a reassuring one from Giovanni.

Nico doesn’t quite know what to do with himself, and they all shift around while Giovanni exchanges a few muttered words with Martino that he doesn't hear, before turning back to them.

"It was fun." Nico nervously walks around the table. "I should get going."

"Bro, no, come on. Stay for another match. We can forget that one," Gio points at Martino behind him—chewing on his lip and gazing down at his phone in both hands again— "for now. We need a fourth player."

The other boys already walked to their side of the table, leaving him with no other choice, and he takes his place as Giovanni’s teammate, internally relieved.

Elia and Luca, he learns, are a horrible team. 

Their attempts at working together are clumsy and him and Giovanni destroy them, counter almost every move they try, winning with a final score of 10-3. The boys are more fun than he expected, throwing around vulgar phrases and trash-talking, and Nico joins in, surprising even himself. It's easy and playful—it's been too long since he properly relaxed outside of the safety of his room, and he missed moments like these. 

Martino is still not joining them, the crease between his eyebrows getting deeper every time Nico dares to look, and then he vanishes with his phone to make a call outside. The baretto fills up as they play, the smell of coffee getting more intense with every new guest.

When Martino comes back without a phone and sits on a barstool near them, Giovanni—while still playing—makes a show of welcoming him. 

"Ah! Look who finally blessed us with his presence," he teases, but it makes Martino smile, and it's the first time he's done that here. The crease in his forehead is gone, as well as his jacket, and he seems more relaxed than a few minutes ago, leaning his elbows on the table behind him.

Luca manages to hit the ball with so much force it flies across the room, leaving everyone frozen in surprise for a second before they burst out laughing.

"We're gonna get thrown out again", Elia says, facepalming.

Luca ducks his head and goes to search for the ball, the others looking around to check if the staff saw it.

Nico takes the chance of a break and leaves the table to sit on the stool next to Martino. " _Again?_ ", he asks.

"This happens regularly," Martino says with a laugh as they watch Elia complain about his teammate.

"A group of troublemakers, I see," Nico jokes.

"I can't even deny it," Martino admits, smiling at him with warm eyes and it's the first time he sees him up close, gaze falling on his freckles—faded because of the long winter months.

The break doesn't last long, Luca comes back with the ball and no complaints from the employees, calling Nico back to the game, but his phone vibrates for the second time—he felt it during a game some time ago—and he pulls it out of his pocket. Two text messages.

> **Maddalena**   
>  _I thought you were coming at 2?_
> 
> _Where are you?_

He sighs. "I have to go," he says in Luca's direction.

They start to complain again, but he holds up his hands apologetically. "Sorry."

"Thanks for keeping me company," Giovanni says, after an understanding nod. "See you around." 

He waves and walks back to his chair and the mug of hot chocolate, completely cooled off by now.

"Marti _—hello—_ can I get your attention? Come over here and bring your foosball skills with you" is the last thing he hears as he packs up his things.

 

***

 

February is ending and he's apparently the only one listening to Silvia's speech. Which has been going on for fifteen minutes now. 

The air in the meeting room is warm and stuffy from the heater, putting half of them to sleep—leaning their backs against walls with closed eyes—and the other half is less obvious, but with blank looks on their faces. All of this isn't exactly what Sana promised a few days ago, and he thinks about quitting, but he swore to himself he would actually make an effort this year, so he stays.

"...and here is the updated excel sheet for the budget." Silvia points to the open laptop next to her.

The other reason Nico stays is sitting at the opposite side of the room on a table, legs dangling over the edge, leaning back on his hands. 

Martino came in barely a minute before the meeting started and—in no rush—took a seat on an empty table. The few times Nico looked over, he seemed relaxed, but there is no way he finds this interesting, so Nico watches him. 

He's calm, but not really looking at Silvia, his eyes keep moving between the other girls sitting next to her.

Silvia's questioning voice hangs in the air—Nico didn't even hear what she asked—and indifference is the only reaction she gets. Nobody moves even an inch to participate in this meeting.

"I can put these files in the group chat later." 

The girls—Nico thinks they are her friends, he's seen them together—give her encouraging nods.

"Silvia, we've been through this," a boy from the back corner throws in.

"I know," she shoots back and her voice turns into a desperate whine, "but come on, you know meetings once a month are mandatory, guys." 

The room sighs collectively, and she descends into another speech.

Nico returns his eyes to Martino, and as if he feels he's being watched he turns his head, lips curling up when he catches his gaze. Nico glances to Silvia and back to him, raising his eyebrows as if to ask _is she always like this?_

Marti's smile gets wider, like he understands, and he raises one shoulder, _Yeah._

Nico lets his head fall back against the wall, the thud swallowed by Silvia's words, but from the corner of his eyes he sees Martino quietly laughing. He blocks out the talk and focuses on him, the way he lets his legs swing a little too much to be casual and not out of boredom.

Sana, who's sitting three seats next to Martino, shoots Marti a look, eyes narrowed like a warning, but his smile just widens in the same effortless and confident way he's been sitting there for the whole meeting.

To Nico's surprise his lack of reaction doesn't seem to bother her too much, she gives him a half-smile, and Nico is dying to know how well she knows Martino, but there’s no way he can casually ask her. 

The minutes melt away in a slow haze, until they are released with a final "that's it for today", giving everyone in the room a sudden burst of energy; students gather their stuff as quickly as possible and head out. Nico stands up and mingles in with the crowd, lets it direct him through the door.

Once he's out, he separates himself from the group and takes a few steps in the other direction. From here he can almost look inside the room where they record; he twists his neck to see, although it would be easier to walk down the corridor, but maybe someone is in there, and he doesn’t want to deal with more unfamiliar faces today.

"Hey," a gentle voice says behind him.

He turns around—embarrassed to be caught watching—and Martino is standing in front of him, hands in his pockets, with a shy smile on his lips. A noticeable contrast to the usual confident smile Nico has seen on him.

"So...radio group?" he asks, uncertainty lacing his voice.

The way he says it, and the way he’s standing here takes Nico by surprise; like a layer of aloofness—that only his friends could get through— has dropped, and revealed someone Nico hasn’t seen before. Someone who’s reaching out. 

"Yeah, I thought it would be nice to meet new people, and Sana promised it was fun."

Martino nods slowly, pressing his lips together. "Sana," he mumbles, more to himself, looking down at his feet. Cute.

Nico’s brain fishes for something to talk about. He can’t let him go that quickly, can’t leave them in this unsatisfactory small talk zone, not when meeting Martino and his friends was the highlight of his first month here, and he's been thinking of ways to approach them in the school hallway without seeming desperate. "None of your friends are in the radio group?"

Marti looks up again, laughing to himself. "It's not really their thing," he admits, but doesn't seem upset about it. "Do you want to see the radio booth?" He points to the door at the end of the corridor.

"Sure." A sudden burst of excitement wants to make him move, but he doesn't know who's supposed to walk first—him, who is standing closest to the radio room, or Marti, who wants to show him around—and they linger for a moment.

"Marti!" Silvia's voice comes from behind; she's walking up to them. "You still haven't answered my text!"

Marti looks around, puzzled, until realization flashes across his face. "Oh, sorry, I forgot."

"So are you coming?" If Silvia was annoyed by his behaviour at the meeting she doesn't show it, now she's back to being all smiles.

"Of course, but since when are you throwing parties at your house again?"

"No parents for the whole weekend." She wiggles her eyebrows, her expression turning serious when Martino laughs. "I made sure this time. Bring your friends." She shows him a sweet smile and then turns to Niccolò. "You're invited too."

Not waiting for an answer, she leaves them standing there, a happy bounce in her walk.

Nico laughs. "She seems excited."

"Yeah, that's Silvia." Marti shrugs, a thoughtful look on his face as he stares at the spot where she vanished around the corner.

Nico runs a hand through his hair, feeling awkward about the invitation, when he doesn't even know her, or anyone really. "I don't know where she lives."

Marti seems to notice Nico's hesitance, a dismissive wave of his hand brushing off the concern. "It's fine, I can show you."

Nico's brain stutters for a moment, before he catches himself again. Marti is digging his hands into his pockets until he finds his phone and looks at Nico expectantly.

He nods before fishing out his own phone. _Yes. Phone numbers. Meet up to go to Silvia's party. Right._

It's a quick exchange: typing in his number, a testing call, Marti's number appearing with the Nokia ringtone.

Nico is just done creating a new contact when another voice appears, this one more familiar.

"Ready? I want to show you how we record," Sana offers him, after looking between the two boys staring at her in silence, and he can't help but feel disappointed.

"Okay," he accepts dumbly, and she signals him to follow her.

"I'll text you," Marti says, absently tapping on his phone, before waving goodbye and quickly turning to walk away.

He avoids Sana's eyes during the whole fifteen minutes she gives him the tour.

 

***

 

Another few hours spent with the boys at the party, this time being brought into the group by Martino, the corner they claimed filled with drunk laughter, seem to do the trick, and he becomes part of them in the blink of an eye. 

They start to hang out: 

First at Elia's place—who’s living in an empty apartment most weekends and seems glad to host most of their Friday night shenanigans—then he also gets invited to Giovanni's house, but only when his parents aren't home. Luca's family is always at home so they don't go there.

They never hang out at Marti's place. 

At least not Niccolò.

He knows the four other boys do.

It’s not unexpected, and he gets it. He's new, and they've been friends for longer and share memories he doesn't know about. He tries not to ponder over it.

So one weekend, when Nico has the apartment to himself, a tempting idea crosses his mind and on the spur of the moment he invites them. The act carries a weird sense of finality, like he's fully letting them into his life, but he only has minutes to sit there and contemplate before they stroll in, one after the other. 

"Why are you guys ignoring me?" Luca whines again over the low music in the background—some radio station that only plays rap—and it makes everyone else laugh even louder than the last three times he complained. 

It's not even that funny—poor Luchino has been holding his hand over his growling stomach for ten minutes now—they're just really, _really_ high.

"Luchi, if you want to eat, just take your phone and order something," Giovanni suggests, as always the voice of reason, although now paired with a dumb grin on his face.

Luca sighs deeply, as if he's suffering greatly because they declined his plans. "So nobody wants to go out somewhere?" Collective head-shaking. "I guess one of us has to take charge." He slowly gets up from the couch, where he was buried in between Martino's and Elia's lazy limbs, and walks with heavy steps to the kitchen to make a call, laughter at his dramatic exit following him.

Nico’s head feels light, and he puts his feet on the coffee table, the corner he can reach from the armchair he sinks into, and almost knocks over the soda cans standing too close to the edge.

"Guys," Marti says as he spreads out more where Luca left his spot, "did we just really let him be in charge of the food?"

Elia stops nodding along to the beat, his eyes widening in panic, but they all just laugh again, not doing anything about it.

" _A Brief History of Time_ ", Gio reads, standing in front of the bookshelf. After going through Nico's music collection he decided on the book collection next, although he's not in the condition to make smart comments about any of it. 

Elia doesn't let that hold him back. "Stephen Hawking. Super cool guy. Met him at a bar once—he told me I'm a genius," he deadpans.

" _The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire._ "

"Honestly? If you want to know about Rome's history, just asks me," Elia continues confidently and at this point they are all struggling for air, Marti coughing out the smoke he just inhaled.

Gio leaves every book slightly out of place while putting it back, but it doesn't matter, because Nico's cheeks hurt from grinning. They arrive at the part of the shelf that contains Nico's books, a bunch of music theory and hardback books with sheet music, when Luca finally comes back.

"Guys have you seen this?" he waves his phone excitedly, flopping down on the couch, ignoring Marti's grumbling when he nearly smashes his arm. "Carolina posted on Instagram."

"Who?" 

"Carolina. She's in fifth year," Luca explains absentmindedly, staring at his phone.

Martino meets Niccolò's gaze and rolls his eyes, probably thinking the same as he is: _A new crush every week_. He leans over the table to pass Nico the joint, smiling at him, and it’s heartwarming. He probably will never get used to it. It makes something bloom in his stomach, developing out of the seeds planted weeks ago, and it's growing and growing, filling his chest from the inside.

"I don't understand why you always want to go for the girls from the fifth year," Elia throws in, although he knows he can't stop it, Luca's probably already gone on her.

Luca tilts his phone towards him.

"Okay, I take it back. She's hot."

Nico lifts the joint to his lips, taking a slow drag and watches them scroll through her pictures, each one convincing Elia a little more to help Luchino get the girl.

He understands why they're friends. Weeks of soaking up every word have given him a clear picture of how this works. 

It's not difficult to realize that Giovanni is the one who guides them, mostly towards a good time, but always quick to prevent stupid ideas that could end disastrously. Luchi is the driving force behind many of them, in his opinion the mastermind, but he'll go with everything the group decides, coming up with improvements along the way. Elia is basically always ready to fight anyone who threatens the boys, but—being the little shit he is—has spent weeks laughing at Marti for losing his weed at a party once and being blackmailed into joining the radio last year. 

He should have known there is a story behind Marti ending up in the radio group; he's heard him comment on all the shitty clubs their school offers, but he also makes an effort and Sana is always praising him. Everything makes more sense now, but he's not sure if the other boys know about how much he enjoys it. In the end, everyone is content, since Marti always brings them along to the radio group parties—now with Nico joining the group.

His gaze drifts to Marti, who's not paying attention to the commentary next to him, staring into the distance, eyes red and moving slower than usual. Nico steals a glance at Gio, but he's still flipping through a book. He wonders if Marti is used to Giovanni's looks, used to be checked up on. He must be, since Gio isn't shy about it. Gio doesn't lower his gaze when Marti looks back, questioning, because he just wants to know if Marti's okay. Nico has seen it a hundred times.

He wonders if Marti is aware of the additional pair of eyes on him lately. 

"Right, Nico?" Luca's voice hauls him back to the present.

"Huh?"

Luca turned the phone in his direction, a girl he's seen at school is on the screen. "Good-looking, right?" He seems eager and genuine.

"Yeah, sure," Nico assures. The girl is pretty, but even if Nico didn't think that, he wouldn't have the heart to kill his enthusiasm.

"Gio?"

Gio studies the photo and shrugs. "Whatever you like, bro."

"Wow, don't be too excited." 

"She doesn't have red hair, that's why," Elia teases and Gio would've probably shoved him into the armrest if he was sitting next to him, but he's laughing at the comment.

"Come on, back me up, Marti," Luca pushes an elbow into Marti's side. "What do you think?"

"Nico," Gio interrupts before Marti can properly look at the phone. "Can you actually play this or is it just pretentious decoration?" He points at the piano. Everyone's eyes light up at the idea.

Nico turns down the music and walks to the piano, giving them time to choose something, but they only come up with absurd suggestions like the national anthem and the Star Wars theme. The latter he knows. 

He sits down, shaking his head at the ridiculousness, and then his fingers touch the keys and he's in his element.

They only let him play for a few seconds before they join in, mimicking all the instruments in the intro with passion. He has to slow down the theme so they can keep up with the pace, and they're high and it's incredibly silly but he enjoys it more than the whole past year.

 

***

 

It's March and Maddalena won't leave him alone.

There’s a twinge of guilt when he thinks about it that way, but uncertainty manifested in their relationship a long time ago.

Sometimes it's something she does. Sometimes it's what she doesn't do. Most often it's when she's not there, and he can breathe, and that's not how it's supposed to feel.

He tries so hard to come up with something to say. Words that make it clear, make her understand what he doesn’t fully understand himself.

It's brewing deep inside, an idea, unclear as his thoughts sometimes, hidden behind a wall of fear. Occasionally the wall is transparent enough that he can sense it—a little piece of freedom.

His thought process is slow and careful, it takes him weeks to work through, countless nights without sleep where he's revisiting the thought. He's cleared out a corner in his head for it, like an empty shelf for a new project, his mom's words ringing in his ears. _This can't be just another impulsive idea_. 

_Not this time._ He wants to do it the right way. 

So he thinks and thinks, leaves the thought for a while and returns to his routine, then comes back again.

One night, curled in on himself in bed, he allows his brain to dig through the memories of last year, to live through the bad days—he forces himself to stay away from the worst—but it's still enough to make his eyes fill up with the pain that forms into tears. His room is dark and his eyes are closed anyway, but the hot tears still run down the sides of his face, leaving wet streaks on his temples. His parents are home and he has to be quiet, so he presses his lips together and pulls the blanket up to his chin. 

He's scratching old wounds, tearing at the edges that have grown together and he knows it's bad, feels the pull that drags him deeper, but he _has_ to do it. He has to know if it's the right decision, has to be sure. 

In the end, it all leads to this:

Nico is sitting on the couch in the living room, has been sitting there for the last twenty minutes since he let her into the apartment.

He fiddles with his hands. There is a narrow space between the cushions next to his leg, he wants to stick them in there to stop them from trembling. He keeps them in his lap instead.

"I don't want this anymore," he repeats, and he hates that his voice shakes. He wants it to be strong and firm, but instead it's so quiet that he questions if Maddalena even heard him.

She turns in her seat next to him and moves closer, eyes still unconvinced. "You don't know what you're saying."

He takes a shallow breath, shaking his head, every second draining his energy. Even after he's explained everything a few times, his hands are still trembling, and he curls them into fists, feeling his anger collect with every time he has to repeat the sentence.

It plays out like it always does. Everyone wants him to be logical—most of the time he doesn't even understand what they mean by that—but the worst part is that he's frustrated, and wants to scream that he _does_ know what he's saying, that it's all he's been thinking about for the last six weeks.

But he knows he can't raise his voice, he knows he's not allowed to.

She lowers herself in front of him, down on her knees to look him in the face. She raises a hand to his cheek, and now there’s pain in her eyes and it makes him so angry. At the whole situation, and that every decision he makes leaves somebody hurt. There's always someone who ends up disappointed in him. 

Her hand is caressing his cheek; it's a gesture that once filled him with peace, and now it makes his skin crawl. He flinches, so she drops it to take his hands in both of hers.

He lowers his gaze, can't hold the eye contact any longer, and he can feel her looking, silently asking him to resolve this like they always do.

But all he can do is stare at their joint hands, hands that once meant safety. 

Then it was enough, but now it isn't anymore. And this time he won't allow himself to go back.

"Colino, don't be like that," she says, but wants to say _don't be selfish like that_ and it makes Nico hate himself. Because he _is_ like that.

He doesn't know which one of them is begging, or what else to tell her, because he doesn't know how to end this or how to make the lump in his throat go away.

"Please," he chokes out, and it's all he manages. 

She leaves and he expects it to hurt more, but it just hurts the same, a dull echo that has been coming and going in the past months.

 

***

 

The day feels grayer than usual.

It's gloomy and everything is out of place. The bus a little too slow to get to class on time, the strings on his hoodie annoying as they swing against his chest when he walks, even the neighbour's dog barks at him, so he doesn't even try to pet him.

"I'm gonna meet her there, fully dressed up," Luca tells the guys as they make their way out of the school. "It's a foolproof plan."

Niccolò is walking behind them, only half-listening to the conversation.

He tastes something sour coating his tongue, and although he thoroughly brushed his teeth this morning and tried it scrape it off, it's still there.

"Hey you can bring your girlfriend, it'll be fun," Luca says over his shoulder.

It catches him off guard and guilt pours through him. He hasn't told them.

"Mh," he starts, uncertain, "we broke up." He tries to brush it off in a casual tone, but they all stop and turn around.

"Oh."

There is an awkward silence that nobody wants to break.

"Are you okay?" Giovanni is the first to speak, unsurprisingly.

_You can be honest to your friends._

Is he okay? He shrugs. "Yes, it was my decision." That's one thing he's sure about, and the only thing he’s willing to reveal right now.

They nod, understanding, and he doesn't want to explain, so he signals for them to continue walking.

Fist-bumps are given at the usual spots where they split—Nico gets additional pats on the shoulder that he appreciates—until there's only Marti left.

They walk in silence for a minute or two, and Marti apparently hasn't come up with anything else to say, so he voices what sounds like something he's been thinking about the whole way. "You don't..." He chews on his lips. "Are you really okay?"

Nico lifts his head to see the look on his face, full of concern, and for a moment it reminds him of the way Gio looks at Martino. He doesn't want to think about that.

Marti looks into the direction where they are headed—the bus stop—then back to where they came from. An encouraging smile spreads across his face. "We could go to that sandwich place Elia showed us last week. Would you like to?"

"I don't know if..." Nico uselessly gestures with his hands. He wants to decline, but he doesn't even know _what_ he doesn't know. If he can pretend that everything is fine? If he wants people near him when he's feeling low?

"No problem," Martino says, because he always says stuff like that, always says _"thank you, Nico"_ and _"it's fine"_ and _"trust me"._ It makes his heart ache every time.

Nico looks at him, studies the honest expression on his face, like everything’s out in the open, and he thinks it says something like _you don't have to pretend_ and perhaps even _I'll take you as you are_.

What he sees makes his knees weak and he almost takes a step back. The answer hits him like a punch in the guts, cruel and unforgiving and out of nowhere. 

The answer to the unavoidable question: how could he survive _this_ and come out whole?

He would inevitably leave pieces of him behind, more than he already has.

 

***

 

"I've never seen that one before," Nico says, pointing at a bottle on the grocery shelf.

Martino squints his eyes against the bright fluorescent light behind the shelf to read the label. "Me neither."

"So, which one do we get?" Nico asks teasingly, and it feels like the fifth time in the past ten minutes.

Marti steps out of the way of another customer, still thinking, a deep crease on his forehead.

"We're gonna spend the whole evening here if you don't decide soon," Nico chuckles.

It's barely time to start pre-drinking, but Marti's indecisiveness is slowly getting more and more hilarious, and it amuses Nico no end, so he wants to push a little more.

"Shut up, I'm thinking." Marti's gaze gets intense for a moment and Nico can't help but burst out laughing, doubling over.

"Okay, I'm asking the guys!" Marti decides and takes out his phone to take a picture of the bottles and send it.

They stand there, waiting, inspecting the selection, and they're lucky it's a big store, otherwise they would've already been scolded for their shenanigans, joking around like they're already drunk. Maybe they actually accomplished to get drunk on the faint smell of alcohol in this section of the store, but it's most likely just the anticipation. After all, Elia promised them an unforgettable evening of drunk-FIFA. And, they left the guys in Marti's apartment, unsupervised. Who knows what they'll come back to.

Nico bounces on his feet, shifting from one to the other, absently humming along to whatever pop song is playing in the background, until he catches Marti's look: raised eyebrows and wide eyes.

"I thought you were an expert of music, now you want to tell me you know this song?" he says, mouth open in disbelief.

"It was popular a few summers ago, of course I remember it." He sings along for a few seconds, and the words come naturally, like muscle memory.

Martino blinks, disbelieving. "But you _like_ it!"

"You can like many different things, Marti."

"There goes my illusion of you having good taste," Marti laughs, stepping closer.

Nico rolls his eyes, because the situation is a little ridiculous, and takes a step too until they're close and directly in front of each other. He's ready to argue for his right to like cheesy songs.

He finds himself in an unspoken staring contest, and he can’t ask but he wonders: What kind of questions go through Marti’s mind when he looks at Nico like this?

It's a slippery slope, this whole thing, and Nico can't tell if Marti's right behind him, or if he's alone in this.

They're standing still, both not ready to back down, when Marti's phone beeps with a message. 

Nico quickly turns back to the shelf, singing along louder than before, and he knows Marti is shaking his head disapprovingly, but it doesn't matter. His grin isn't going to shrink anytime soon, because it's been a long time since he felt anything similar to the butterflies in his stomach now.

 

***

 

"Bye, Nico!" he hears from one of his classmates behind him, but he's already out the door. 

Everything's too much today, pulling at his energy, demanding his attention.

Walk. Bus. Home. That’s what he’s clinging to.

On the edge of his field of view he sees one of the girls—maybe Eva—waving at him, but he continues walking, keeps his head down.

Down the stairs. Through the school gate. Across the street.

"Nico," a familiar voice appears behind him, but he _can't,_ so he keeps walking, ignoring his complaining muscles, tired from sleepless nights. 

Martino is the last person he wants to see right now.

The steps are approaching fast, not letting him leave, and a hand grabs his shoulder. Nico shrugs it off.

Martino freezes, like a dear caught in headlights, maybe at the gesture, maybe at the cold look on Nico's face (although Nico has no idea what he looks like right now—probably like a ghost).

It's the last thing Niccolò wants. 

He never wants to scare him off, but Marti's face changes, now pure confusion.

Nico takes a deep breath, feels like he hasn’t in a while.

_Don't mess this up._

The thing is, Nico _knows._

He knows about Marti's depressed mom; he knows how much Marti loves her. Marti, with his caring heart, and his understanding, and his patience that seems endless.

It scares him how much he wants it, how he wants everything.

The whisper of faded guilt clouds his mind. _He's too good for me._

It's been a long time since Nico's had a friend like this, someone who cares for him. Why can't it be enough?

Nico counts the seconds, trying to think of something to say. It doesn't help.

He feels panic rise in his chest and tries to swallow it down before it can reach his throat. His voice is already shaky enough.

"Sorry, I have to go," he manages and sharply turns around, leaving before he can see Marti's reaction.

 

***

 

Nico doesn't go to school for the next two days. 

Then he's alone in the apartment on the weekend, and he has enough of the silence in his room. He turns up the music as loud as the sound system lets him. His parents aren't home in the afternoon and he doesn't care about the neighbours, all he cares about is the soothing feeling of the bass reaching his bones when he places his fingertips directly on the speaker.

The next day is gloomy and cold, rain during the whole day, not once do the drops stop falling. He leans his forehead against the cool glass and just listens.

On Monday he's standing in front of the closet deciding what to put on, but actually wondering how he'll survive hours of his classmates talking to him, and he already knows them and is kind of friends with some of them so he can't ignore them, and it's just going to be tiring anyway, and then he's back under the bedcover.

On Tuesday, Marti is leaning on the corner of the school gate, looking down. 

Niccolò already spotted him from afar, he's in his usual waiting place.

His steps slow down involuntarily, but he clutches the straps of his backpack a little harder and forces himself to continue walking, stopping in front of Marti. He's standing a little too far away, but doesn't want to get closer.

Marti looks up, surprised.

"Hi." He smiles.

"Hi," Nico echoes with a creaky voice. He clears his throat.

There is no trace of resent in Marti's face. Just the usual kind eyes. Nothing similar to what Nico has spent days imagining.

Nico's gaze falls on the phone in Marti's hands. He deserves an explanation but Nico's not sure what to say. He knows he will have to be brave and clear up things. There is no point in hiding. He shifts his weight, unsure if he should stay to wait for the others.

Marti puts the phone into his pocket.

"Are you waiting for the guys?" Nico asks, suddenly having a hard time to think of what to talk about.

"No, they're already inside. I was waiting for you." He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"But," Nico looks around, dumbstruck for a moment, "how did you know I would come today."

Marti shrugs. "I didn't."

Nico just stands there, no words coming out of his mouth. He doesn't know if Marti texted him over the last five days, his phone is still turned off and under a pile of clothes on his chair.

Did he wait for him in the morning when Nico didn't come to school?

"Let's go, we'll be late." Marti starts walking, looking at him over his shoulder until Nico finally wills his legs to move, to catch up.

Nico cautiously stays a half step behind him as they walk, looking over in anticipation, waiting for the inevitable question that always comes. He's used to it.

Martino doesn't ask.

 

***

 

It's June and the days begin earlier.

Nico wakes up in stages, slowly, while he’s lying on his back, bones sore from a short night on the couch. The twisted hood of his sweatshirt covering one side of his face, his arm thrown above his head, a knee pressed into his hip.

There is no sound coming from outside, it must be early.

The person next to him shifts in his sleep and the knee is stretched out and gone. The memory of last night seeps into his mind, telling him it's Gio's couch he's lying on, and that the dead bodies around him are his friends. 

Not dead, sleeping. Same difference, if he considers the pounding in his forehead.

The person next to him—the one that's closest—is Marti. He knows it without looking. It's the place he sat in last night, then slipped into a more horizontal position as the evening drew to a close. 

He's hyperaware of Marti these days. It's a thrilling excitement, but it's the good kind, one that doesn't leave him exhausted. It comes and goes, leaving a trail of ease behind.

He turns to the side, trying to find a more comfortable position, pulling his hand down and between the pillow and his face. The pounding appears at the back of his head too, now, but it's dull. Countless beer bottles on the couch table tell the story of how they spent their time, but he didn't go overboard last night. 

He sighs, doesn't want to get up.

It's June and the days are getting longer as something shifts. 

He’s not sure when it happens, or if it always was that way. 

He watches Marti who's turned to him, lying completely still, only his slow breathing raising his chest up and down. He looks so young and frightfully peaceful.

It's a huge couch, big enough for the four of them—Giovanni is probably in his bed—and they are not even touching, but he can feel the warmth Marti is radiating. And Marti is always so warm, always has to open his jacket or take off his cardigan. But it suits him, with his sweet smile and his brown eyes and his warm kindness.

Nico would like to take a picture of this moment—Marti with messy hair and sleep lines on his cheek is soothing everything in him.

But he can't, he doesn't even have a smartphone. Maybe he could draw it. Make it real.

Nico takes a last look before he closes his eyes, saving the view to his memory, knowing he'll never stop thinking about it.

He opens his eyes again when he hears him shift.

Marti sighs and presses his eyes shut although they are already closed, as if he knows the daylight would bother him. He rolls on his back, tongue darting out to lick his lips, dry from dehydration. His eyes open slowly, stare at the ceiling and then around, as he tries to come to his senses.

He's hungover too, judging by the way he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Good morning," Nico says low-voiced, not to wake up the others behind him.

Marti lets his head fall to the side to look at him.

"Hey," he whispers softly, blinking the sleep away, his voice still hoarse from the alcohol. 

The indulgence of a dozy morning lies in the air, early rays of sunshine illuminating the dust floating around them. It makes him think that he can bear this. It's not enough, but maybe he can. If he pushes everything behind a wall, it wouldn't be a problem, he lies to himself. 

Nico used to know the rules by heart—his own rules, the ones he repeated like a mantra, and hung on to for dear life in moments when he lost himself in possibilities.

But now they're not so clear anymore.

And then there's a moment. 

Marti says nothing, and Nico can't, because Marti's eyes are on him, calm and unreadable, and it's a moment that offers him a false hope, he knows it. 

But maybe Nico can't resist. 

He lies there, looking back.

Marti closes his eyes again, rolls his head back to look at the ceiling and stretches out his arms, fiddles around, like he's checking if all his limbs are intact. Still lying close to Nico and it's so normal, so easy, and he wonders when it has become the two of them.

(Or if it has.)

He really needs to stop.

Instead, a grin forms on his face as he sneaks his hand up to Marti and pokes a finger into his side, then three. Before Marti can realize what's happening, Nico pushes up on his elbow and both hands are tickling him and Marti's screaming a high-pitched "No!", entirely awake now.

He jerks away from the hands but can't escape, so in the chaos of their arms bumping together he grabs the first thing he finds, grabs Nico by the wrists, forcefully tries to keep them away, but Nico is laughing and not giving up, now half above him and stronger than Marti, and all Marti can do is twist under him, shaking his head and laughing in pain. 

"What the hell are you two doing?" one of the others yells. "I'm sleeping!"

Nico stops abruptly—still giggling—half from the surprising noise, half from wanting to let Martino catch his breath. 

Marti's hair is a complete mess from turning so much and he's out of breath, face flushed, mouth open, panting. Looking at Niccolò. Who still has his hands on Marti's sides.

A shaky breath leaves Nico’s lungs and he tears his eyes away and yells a "Good morning!" over his shoulder, waking up everybody, letting himself fall back into the position on the couch he woke up in.

 

***

 

Fifteen minutes, five-minute break. 

The weeks feel like a slow burn travelling through his body, eating him up. 

His final exams are only one week away and he's freaking out. 

Actually, he's trying not to freak out (but he _is_ freaking out).

Fifteen minutes, five-minute break. 

It was twenty minutes until two days ago, but he can't keep that up anymore.

He's sitting on his bed, books scattered all around him, trying to breathe.

He can't fail, because he already failed once, and only the thought brings everything back, all the memories he pushed deep into a corner of his mind. So there's that, _he can't fail._

The days start to bleed into one another.

He has a plan, and he's been strictly following his schedule, but there's still that fear looming over his head. How things will look tomorrow, how he will feel tomorrow. 

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

He takes another deep breath, remembering less stressful days. He tries to think about the boys, how they formed a study group and went through with it, how he was with them one time, when everything was a little chaotic but they tried not to give up after half an hour. He tries to do the same now.

Fifteen minutes.

 

***

 

It's July and it's Niccolò's favorite kind of day.

The road is stretching out in front of him, music coming out of the car speakers and everyone's in a good mood. There is a buzz in the air, mimicking the blurry heatwaves hovering over the road at the horizon, and Nico has finally finished school.

In the end, it all went fine. 

The second he stepped out of the school for the last time and fell into his mother's arms, he left it all behind: The weeks leading up to his exams where he exhausted himself, the sleepless nights, the nervous wait outside the classroom before he took each exam. He left it all behind, and it was the easiest thing in the world, to just let go.

"Hey, can we stop somewhere soon? I need to take a piss," Elia notes from the backseat. It doesn't sound urgent, more like he plans to drink the whole bottle of Cola he's holding, so he's asking for a break in advance.

The GPS shows _17 km_ and an arrow straight ahead.

"I'll see what I can do," Nico says, taking a glance through the rear-view mirror, but Elia is looking out the window, not paying attention to him or the other two boys next to him, who are playing some competitive quiz game on their phones.

The sun shining through his side window is heating up the skin on his arm, and he takes one hand off the steering wheel to twist the short sleeve of his t-shirt up over his shoulder.

Nico takes another glance, this time at Martino in the passenger seat. 

His head is tilted back against the headrest, eyes closed and completely relaxed, and he's quietly humming and drumming his hands against his thighs. His phone is sitting on his lap, connected to the speakers, so every few minutes he chooses a new song.

"Dude, don't you dare open that here," Giovanni warns.

Nico's attention snaps back to them. "Please don't make a mess in the car," he begs. How would he explain _that_ to his mother?

The soda opens with a hissing sound, almost swallowed by Gio's complaint and the low hum of the car's engine.

"Okay, okay, everyone's safe!"

Nico focuses back on the road, relieved they dodged a mishap, when something tugs at the back of his mind. It takes him some time to catch up with what's going on, but it finally dawns on him.

The first quiet notes have gone by unnoticed, but now he recognizes the catchy beat. It's _the song._

The grin spreading across his face is probably dumb, but he can't help himself, the memory of being caught singing a cheesy song, making Marti laugh at him and tease him the whole way home, is exactly what he feels like right now.

Marti shifts, opens one eye to watch Nico's reaction, and Nico indulges him, smiles back and fondly rolls his eyes, and apparently it's what Marti's searching for—he leans back again, grinning knowingly.

He doesn't change the music, simply lets it play for the whole three minutes, and he isn't making fun of him this time, just humming with a smile on his face, and the three boys in the backseat aren't aware of anything.

 

***

 

They follow the path through the tall grass—pale and burnt by the sun. Two pairs of feet on the flattened route that leads them to the lake, water already glittering in the distance.

Marti's going on and on about some movie the others mentioned earlier, apparently thinking the best way to make Nico watch it is to elaborate the whole plot and its deeper meaning. Nico just smiles along and lets him, because today his eyes are sparkling more than ever.

"...and then there is—" Marti stops mid-sentence and glances at him, like he has an idea. Or maybe he realizes he didn't give Nico a chance to speak. A mischievous smile forms on his face. "I bet I’m faster!"

"Huh?"

Marti abruptly starts running, gone in a heartbeat and there are two or three seconds of disorientation where Nico's brain doesn't understand what's happening, but his body knows to follow.

He bolts after him and then he's running as fast as he can, closer to the water with every move, quickly catching up to Marti. He doesn't know where Marti got the idea he's faster than him; he smirks when he surpasses him, catching a glimpse of Martino's surprised expression, shoes sinking more into the ground as he reaches the beach.

He sees a blanket on the ground and stops there, hands on his knees, breathing hard. 

So _that's_ what Giovanni was doing when he had to 'go get some stuff from the car'.

Marti arrives a few seconds after, already slowing down before he reaches him.

"Loser!" Nico greets him, but it doesn't matter anymore, both of them are looking at where the water meets the sand. There's something about it, and it makes him smile even more. The lake, the brightness, the light breeze that does nothing to reduce the heat. They picked the perfect weekend to come here.

"I missed this." There is a fond smile on Marti's lips like he's revelling in a happy memory, breathing deeply through his nose.

He's looking straight ahead at the sparkling at the horizon, the freckles on his cheeks more visible than ever.

Nico can't help but stare.

Marti looks up to the sky and squints his eyes against the sun. Everything about him seems so easy, how he's standing there like he doesn't have a care in the world, then pulling his shirt over his head, carelessly throwing it on the blanket, his hair falling back into place. 

Soft waves of excitement are prickling down Nico's spine, blending into the burn of the sun all over his skin.

There are voices behind them now, their friends finally catching up and stepping on the beach, and the heat collecting under Nico's shirt reminds him to move, to stop just standing there, to take it off if he doesn't want to soak it with sweat. He undresses, takes his pants off too.

The boys arrive and immediately get into a competition of trying to push each other into the water fully clothed. He just watches them, enjoying the heat rising in his body, settling in all his limbs, making his blood sing and his heart feel light.

Nico knows he's a teenager, but he's never felt like one. Always dragging a grey cloud behind, a worry kids his age shouldn't have. 

But now, under the mid-day sun, he finally believes it, feels everything this day has to offer, the wind, the laughter around them and the laughter building up inside him.

Marti heads to the water and stands there for a moment, leaving the others behind while they undress, all of them already in swim trunks, and Nico follows, cautiously taking a step into the water. It's warmer than he imagined and he keeps going, impatient, wants to cool his skin.

Marti's close behind him, he thinks, and then there's a splash of water on Nico's back, enough to wet the hair on the back of his neck. He sharply turns around, ready to return the gesture, but Marti's muttering half a sentence under his breath that's swallowed by his own laugh, something about another competition.

"You want to lose again?" Nico smiles at him, and it’s not the kind of smile he should give Martino, at least not in front of all his friends, and because of all the other reasons he can't think of right now.

"You don't know who you're talking to, new kid," Marti says confidently, but a teasing smile on his lips betrays his shamelessness.

It makes Nico laugh, throws him back in time, almost makes him forget the blush spreading across his cheeks. 

He wants to counter, wants to tell Marti his arrogance won't help him win, that Nico is a great swimmer, but he barely has time to gasp in surprise and then he's pushed under the surface. Blood is rushing in his ears, the way you only hear it underwater, and all he feels are the pressing hands on his shoulders, pressing him down, down, down into his feelings.

 

*

 

The sun is low, shining through the curtains and coloring the living room in orange light. In shades of happiness, if Nico had to paraphrase.

The door squeals as Marti comes in and walks to the kitchen, ignoring whatever one of the guys outside was yelling before he shut the door.

Nico, slumped into the couch, watches the sunlight shift across the wooden floor, enjoying the break after hours in the water.

"What are they up to?" he asks, when he hears the faint sounds of an excited discussion outside.

"Who the hell knows," Marti half-laughs, half-sighs.

He says something about making dinner and digs through the drawers, complains about missing butter under his breath, and occasionally looks at Nico while they talk.

The uncooked pasta bubbles up the boiling water when it falls in, Marti puts the lid on top and continues to create a mess on the kitchen counter, rearranging the ingredients he needs later. He strolls over to him, holding two pieces of cheese, and Nico laughs at the sight.

Out of nowhere, a ridiculous thought crosses his mind: if it was Elia, he would stick out a leg to trip him up. He doesn’t know where it comes from, this constant reminder of the difference in their relationships, and once, he would have wondered why it's so persistent, but now he knows, and it's more like an afterthought, so Nico pushes it away.

Marti collapses next to him, their legs touching from ankles to knees, almost touching from knees to hips. He feels the hair on Marti's leg brush against his bare skin, but Marti keeps it there, and it's solid and warm, just like him. 

"Here." He gives him a piece, a smooth rectangular block, and they both sit there chewing. 

Marti sets a timer for the pasta on his phone, then lets his hands fall to his lap, head tilted far back on the backrest. It's quiet for a while, only the old refrigerator humming in the background.

"Thanks," Nico says after he swallows, but he means the food that's cooking on the stove. "What's the plan for tomorrow?"

Marti is looking up at the ceiling, as if searching for the answer to the question, and Nico's eyes fall on his neck. It's more tanned than he's ever seen, but light compared to the other boys. But then again, it's only July and there are still plenty of sunny days to come.

"We'll see." Marti smiles and rolls his head to look at him, honey brown irises illuminated by the sunlight.

This time Nico doesn't turn away from the moment, the _this can't work out_ and _what if he'll hate me?_ long gone. 

"Tired from swimming?" he asks, a teasing smile on his lips.

"I kind of want to take a nap," Martino says with a lazy chuckle. His hair is curlier than normally, loose and sun-dried, and it's the same color as it was on the beach in the bright daylight, only now pale sunbeams light up strands of hair and parts of his face.

The seconds are ticking away slower, and Nico's heart climbs up into his throat when he lifts his hand close to Marti's neck, as if he's reaching through the thing that's sitting between them.

"You have a sunburn." His fingers ghost over the smooth skin, travelling to the back of the neck. He wants to touch the red skin that disappears into the cushion, hovers over the spot where it connects with it, but most of it is pressed into the backrest, leaving him no other choice than to change the course and trace a line down to Marti's shoulder. His gaze follows his fingers, but he feels Marti's eyes on him, and Marti stays still, lips slightly parted as if he wants to say something, but nothing's coming out yet.

This time he wants to let the _almost_ unfold.

His fingers arrive at the seam of the t-shirt and Marti says "I know" and is still looking at him with a mild smile. 

And maybe he does know.

It makes Nico’s breath hitch, and there’s a part of him that wants this to happen differently. 

_Marti, you deserve so much more than fleeting moments on old sofas in a cabin far away from reality._

The atmosphere around them is not tense, but everything in Nico's stomach is, and he wants to kiss him, can already feel how the next seconds will play out.

He finally looks up to meet Marti's eyes.

Somewhere in the distance the doorhandle clicks open. Until he realizes that the sound isn't that far away, and the door is right behind him.

"Hey guys," Elia stumbles through the door, and Nico yanks his hand back, both of them staring at Elia, who's standing there completely confused. 

Nico's face is probably full of panic at the sudden interruption.

"Luchi is trying to make a bonfire," he announces, like he remembers what he came in for, ignoring the looks on their faces.

_Elia, have you no heart?_

"Elia wait," Giovanni yells from outside before he steps through the door. He looks at Elia before his eyes wander to them. "Luchino wants to make a bonfire, if you want to come help," he explains, softer.

"Sure." Martino laughs shakily. He gets up, no longer warming Nico's side.

Nico sits there for a moment, mourning the lost spell and gathering his racing thoughts before he follows them outside.

 

*

 

Luca and Elia are arguing for far too long until Gio—who looks like he'd like to decide everyone's place himself—suggests the most democratic decision just to shut them up. 

They draw matches: Giovanni and Marti get the longest two—and the bed, Niccolò the medium-length—the best option in the living room: the sofa, and the two naggers end up on the floor. At least they have sleeping mats to soften their stiff positions.

They arrange their sleeping places, push the small table to the side, take turns in the bathroom, and switch the light off.

The sofa is comfortable, but not long enough to stretch out his legs, so he lies there, knees bent and the thin cover pushed to the side—it's way too hot for that—and after what feels like an hour he dozes off to the sound of synchronized snoring.

He's not sure if he sleeps for a few minutes, or if he just closed his eyes, but either way, he's getting restless, and opens his eyes again. Today’s fresh memories swirl around in his mind while the boys are sleeping soundly, and he untangles himself from the blanket and tiptoes around them, opening the glass door millimetre by millimetre and sneaking out into the darkness.

He walks slowly, as if there'd be someone around he doesn't want to disturb, but there's no one. Just a familiar path—only illuminated by the silver moon—and the soft ground under his feet that carry him to the beach.

He sees the spot of the campfire from afar, collected dry branches next to it, and walks past it, stepping as close to the water as possible without getting his feet wet.

The ground is still warm from the intense sun, he can feel it around his ankles where his shoes end, and he bets the water would also be warm, if he stuck his hand in. 

He stands there for a while. If anything, it's the most peaceful place tonight.

His eyes are getting used to the silhouettes drawn by the moonlight, but he returns to the place of the fire, igniting it like Luca showed them this afternoon. There are enough branches there, and he luckily has a lighter in his pocket.

The flames start small, first a tiny glow, and he has to wait a few minutes until the they spread. He gets up from his kneeling position and moves back until he's leaning against a solid rock, cut almost vertically, like a backrest, only bent back a little, perfect for sitting against it. So he does.

The fire is the only bright spot on the beach, apart from the moon, and the fresh air clears his mind, but also wakes him up, and he's sure he won't be able to sleep anytime soon.

Footsteps appear behind him, first somewhere in the distance, then closer and closer until he turns to see Martino approaching. He doesn't greet him, just sits down next to him, bending his knees and hugging them.

"Can't sleep?"

Nico shakes his head, slowly. "How did you know I was here?"

"I wanted to get a glass of water," he simply says, letting Nico figure out the rest.

Nobody says anything for a while, just the sound of the fire and their quiet breaths in the air.

A sudden noise sharpens their attention, makes Marti turn his head. It could be one of the other boys, but nobody appears, and there are no animals or other people around.

"It's just the wind." Nico laughs, relieved.

Marti nods hesitantly and stretches out his legs, opening both hands to gesture around them. "I love this place. Wish I could stay here," he admits over the crackle of the fire.

"You? The boy who had to google how to make a bonfire?" Nico teases. "You wouldn't survive a week."

"Shut up." Marti knocks their elbows together, but Nico can see it in his expression, he's not annoyed at all. "At least I have a decent phone with an internet connection. You'd be completely lost." 

Nico doesn't answer, content with staring ahead at the unmoving water, the smell of bonfire tingling his nose. Now that he graduated, and he finally feels like he can relax, that he's earned it, maybe they'll come here more often. It wouldn't be difficult to drop a hint to Giovanni. And the other boys would jump on the bandwagon right away. They could make it a semi-regular thing, an activity that could fill their summer. He'd like that.

"What are you thinking about?" It's soft, like Marti doesn't want to break the hushed atmosphere around them.

Nico is lightheaded from all the closeness building up in the last 24 hours.

He feels it in his fingertips the most, something that warms them, makes them crave touch. He curls them to fists, then spreads them again, and it doesn't go away. The flesh warms up; the sensation running up his wrists and arms, like shivers through his veins. His elbow brushes against Marti's, and it still doesn't go away, but deepens. It presses through the bones in his chest, his lungs, down into his stomach, up into his throat. 

A pleasant hum, patient and inevitable. It feels like an opportunity.

The lake is dark and silent, like everything around them and Nico's face probably shows all he feels. He steers his thoughts back to the question, shrugs. "Everything." 

"Is it good or bad?" Martino asks, voice a little throaty now.

It's like every moment spent with Marti erases a bitter memory of Nico's past. He can't admit it to Martino, can't confess; it's a thought so heavy it could crush him, but it's the thruth.

"Good," Nico answers, and he means it. He turns his head to give him a smile. Marti mirrors it, his eyes and lips slow, and goes back to watching the horizon, thoughtful, like he hasn't seen it countless times before.

Nico lets his head fall back against the rock, and it's like he's getting hit for the hundredth time today: Marti is at his side again, neck still a little red from the sun, like a deja vu, a moment repeating itself until he gets the ending right.

But this time Marti is staring ahead at the view in front of them, eyes filled with the reflection of the dancing fire.

Nico wonders if the peaceful lake is ever disturbed by wind or thunderstorms, but the sky above them is clear. An irrelevant part of his brain—the one that knows the answers on the math exam or the appropriate clothes for the temperature outside—tells him that it rains everywhere. 

In this moment Nico can't fathom how it could ever rain here. 

He lifts his hand, careful and slow; he doesn't want to miss the moment Marti realizes what he's doing. It's hovering in the air before he reaches around and puts it on Marti's other cheek. He pushes—there's no force behind it, just the smallest motion. 

He catches the moment he waited for, Marti's eyes fluttering close for a second before he turns his face and a shadow falls over one half. Marti slowly lets out a breath as he looks up, eyes filled with wonder, and something else. Maybe a hint of anticipation.

Nico notices and it's enough to let him act on instinct: lift his head from the warm stone, sit up a little, lean his body more into Marti. The look on Marti's face tells him it's the right thing to do, and he watches him carefully as Marti closes his eyes and stays still. Calm, like he's lingering in the moment. 

It'd be a lie to say he doesn't know how they ended up here, how all of this happened, why he fell in love. He sees all the reasons when Marti looks like this.

His fingers on Marti's cheek are feather light, but as Nico drags them nearer Marti leans forward, following the touch, until their curls intertwine, faces just centimetres apart.

"Good or bad?" Nico asks breathlessly, only vaguely aware of his own words, but he forces himself to stay there, waiting for a reaction. His heart is hammering so loudly, there's no way Marti can't hear it.

Marti's eyes are still closed, but he smiles with the softest expression on his face. Like he always does. "Good."

Marti's breath is warm against his lips and Nico would have kissed him, would have closed the remaining distance, but Marti leans in first. 

He catches Marti's lips mid-thought, having only a second to close his eyes, then a hand on Nico's neck pulls him in, and he feels their lips sliding together, and it's gentle, so gentle, like everything with Marti. He kisses back with the same sentiment, hopes that Marti understands what Nico already knows—this means everything to him. 

It's amazing how little resistance there is, and it reignites the excitement in his body, how Marti fully turns to him, pulls him closer, lips tasting of the sweet melted marshmallows they tried to roast over the bonfire earlier. Marti makes a content and low sound between two kisses, and it crawls right under Nico's skin. 

The hum on his skin is back, first on his lips, then in all the places they touch. Pulsating back into his fingertips on Marti's cheeks, spreading to the skin on his arms where they touch Marti's, climbing to the back of his neck where hands push into his hair. Then collecting in the shrinking space between their chests.

His mind drifts to that afternoon, to the tingling on his skin when they stood in this place, overjoyed and laughing until they could feel it in their ribcages. It's a different feeling now—but it means the same.

They pull apart and Marti's keeping his eyes closed, but he's smiling, open and unguarded. Staying close, both of them breathing in unison.

"Good," Nico repeats, his smile just as big.

 

*

 

The way back is filled with giggles and stumbling through the dark, Marti leading in front—as if Nico couldn't find the way—but it gives him an excuse to hold Nico's hand with both of his, tugging him along. They stop once when Nico checks his pockets to see if he took his lighter with him, and then another time when Nico teasingly pushes Marti from behind. It's a little too enthusiastic and they both stumble, Marti using the opportunity to pull him close for a kiss.

"Be quiet now!" Marti chuckles when they are only a few steps away from the lake house.

There is a half empty glass of water on the windowsill next to the door, probably Marti's.

He thinks about taking it inside, when suddenly the glass door opens. 

It's Giovanni—first poking out his head, hair sticking out in all directions, then he comes out.

"I thought you got murdered in the kitchen or something," he directs at Martino.

He's looking at them with sleepy eyes, blinking slowly in confusion, and they must look completely out of place, fully dressed with happy smiles on their faces. 

Gio looks around into the night, then at them again, and Nico can pinpoint the exact moment when he understands. Although their hands are behind Marti's back, Gio sees it.

Nico feels Marti squeeze his hand. For half a minute nobody says anything, and the silence in the air should feel tense, but it's not, because Gio is already smiling brightly, exchanging a look with Marti whose face is a mirror of what Nico feels on the inside.

Gio opens his mouth to say something but they mumble over each other and Marti's _"Yeah"_ blends with Gio's _"So?"_

They laugh, both at the exchange and the entire situation, and Nico joins in, enjoying how easy this is, relief flowing through his whole body.

Then Gio's face falls a little. "I can't believe I have to leave my own bed at two in the morning."

"What?"

Gio rolls his eyes and signals them to enter the house. "Just get in, okay?"

Marti must realize what Gio is saying, and he stops for a second before he gives him a grateful smile. He pulls them inside, sneaking through the door.

"Marti?" Gio whispers when they are already halfway inside. "What should I tell them?"

Marti raises his shoulders, _whatever you want_ , as if he doesn't mind. "We'll talk in the morning."

It makes Nico smile even more, and he hasn't stopped smiling since they carefully put out the fire on the beach, side by side, and Martino kissed him again, this time only darkness around them, before they walked back.

Gio nods and gives them a last proud grin before he closes the door and makes his way to the sofa.

Martino turns around and his hand is on Nico's lower back, pushing him down the silent hallway, through the door that quietly falls shut, and then Marti's arms are around him and pulling his back against Marti’s chest, and his nose is digging into Nico's hair, an easy chuckle near his ear, and things are good.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Share your thoughts in a comment or [on tumblr!](https://annefraid.tumblr.com/post/184326297585/focal-point-skam-italy-archive-of-our-own) (come talk to me about them!)
> 
> God, I'm really in my feelings about Bracciano, and I miss these two boys so much.


End file.
